Two Zoo Kids

Taking Megan to the zoo is the best. Well, taking BOTH kids to the zoo is the best. Taking Meg HOME from the zoo is another best. In the car, she nearly always passes out (this child is not a sleeper, either), defining gravity and defying skeleton-ity. It's so funny. I will try to scrounge up one that I have gotten with my phone cam while driving 65 mph. Here she is after I lugged her in and tossed her on a couch.

Location: Megan's bed

Situation: Snuggly, cozy bedtime, just before sleep.


Megan: Mommy? Where in my body do I keep buggers?

Me: Um...do you mean boogers?

Megan: Yes, my buggers.

Me: Well, honey...you really don't have a place that you KEEP them. Your nose just MAKES them.

Quiet pondering.

Megan: So God couldn't figure out a place to keep them, so He made a machine to make them?

Me: Yes, Meg.

Bang Bang

I got a wild hair (get it?!) and for the first time, I cut bangs. On Megan. I will probably take her in to my stylist to help them out a little in the next day or two. Maybe she can teach me how to do it for next time.

Dad Entry #61

Megan’s hair is long; it makes her head seem big when it’s tousled a bit, with a little breakfast stuck in the ends somewhere, falling over narrow shoulders, long but not long enough to cover her skinny-mini body and her pancake-flat bottom. Her bottom is visible because too often she runs around in nothing but a cute pair of undies with cupcakes or mermaids on them. Cupcakes, mermaids, princesses. It's sad to think how someday soon her socks won’t have Tinkerbell on them, no bunnies on her jammies. She has a nightgown with Ariel on it. What will happen to Megan’s ‘footie pajamamas’?!?! Her painfully gaudy, over-accessorized princess get-ups? Some day her undies won’t have 'Cute Chic' printed on her butt. At least they better not!!! I suppose she won’t carry a handbag with Polly Pocket dolls in it to junior high school, or wear her 'My Dad Rocks!' shirt in that phase when it's not very cool to be seen with your parents. Speaking of handbags, Meggie loves to put things in purses, pouches, or any kind of container she can lug around all day. I’ve noticed this ‘purse habit’, if I can call it that – likely embedded instinctually in cavewomen gatherers a zillion years ago – is alive and well in my own 21st century offspring. My sweet Meg-Pie will even ask for and put things in an empty mayonnaise jar – if one is suddenly available and rinsed – and carry that around all day.

My friend John Malina and I were chatting; he has Abby, a darling little daughter like Megan. He said, yep, it won’t be long until they realize we aren’t quite the rock stars they think we are. Right now we’re the Superman in their universe, all big and strong and smart, but they’ll notice soon that maybe we’re more like Clark Kent. No cape. Not made of steel. But my Godmother, Donna, reminded me last week how special it is to be the father of a daughter. Sadly, Donna sent out a note on the first anniversary of her father’s passing. She said some amazing things about 'the first man she ever loved, how much she misses him, the man who made her feel safe, who never insulted her, who was an island of calm and reassurance.' I thought it a tremendous reminder of the gift, the duty, the privilege. Thanks, Donna. Sorry, this is heavy stuff. I do wish I was faster than a speeding bullet. How useful for basketball and softball. Not so much for golf, though.

Lately, we’ve been playing what the kids call ‘Sidious’. This is in reference to the Star Wars character Darth Sidious. He is the baddest of the bad guys. So I am expected to fill that role, chasing the kids around, attacking them in mock light saber battles with spins and slashes while emitting full-on sound effects to the point where my mouth gets dry and I need water. When I am wounded, or drop my weapon, I grab my 'enemy' which allows me to snuggle one of them a little. I can also practice jujitsu holds and chokes on my severely outweighed opponent. No, I don’t hurt them. But the hard part is, in the process of our battling, I’m also expected to hoist the kids over my head. And drop them on the bed. Over and over again. They love it so won’t settle for less than 10 reps. Apiece. Michael’s heavy; it’s a workout. Cleans and presses. Even Meggie isn’t so easy to lift and twirl and flip around anymore. Or I have to throw them over a shoulder and carry them to the ‘Jedi dungeon’ under the stairs. Apparently it’s fun, this game called ‘Sidious’, because I say, “Come on Michael, lets just shoot some hoops now for awhile,” and he says. “No, I wanna be Kit Fisto next, and Meggie is Master Luminara,” – yes, I know who these Jedi characters are – and then Meggie says, “No, I wanna be Ahsoka,” who, of course, is Anakin Skywalker’s Padawan (aka apprentice), everybody knows that, and so this game called ‘Sidious’ begins again and I swear the kids could play forever and not get tired of it.

Triage

lol

Wingapo, Pocahantas

Feeding into one of Meggie's passions, Grammie made an Indian Princess Pocahantas dress-up outfit. Meg was smitten. Now she insists she needs a stuffed raccoon Meeko and a stuffed hummingbird Flit. I wonder if the real Pocahantas was this demanding.

Real Genius

In the car on the way home from the Chicago Auto Show with Aunt Gretchen, both kids were just beat. They were zoned out in the back and as I was getting on the highway, I said, "Don't you wish we could just snap our fingers and we'd be in our living room?"

No one really answered and a minute ticked by. Then Megan, still in a trance staring out the window, said, "Actually, mommy, if you snapped your fingers we'd be in the living room in the CAR."

Don't go messin' with Megan + logic.

Miscellaneous Quote

I just found a slip of paper in the pile on my desk:

Aug 4, 09

"I think I am starting to learn that I don't need to feel mad at her all the time. My heart is like so full of love for her right now."

Michael

Dad Entry #60

Michael and I were at the Lego store. Just to look. Most of the boxes and sets there are big and expensive. So when he picked up a little box with only one Lego guy in it (a Lego Atlantis Manta Ray Warrior if you must know), I said, "That is only three dollars, Michael, you might have enough in your piggy bank to get that next time." But Michael said, "No, I don't." I thought he was disappointed he couldn't buy it now so I said, "Yes, you might." He said, "No, I don't." I said, "Yes, you might, you have dollars in your piggy bank sometimes." He said, "No Daddy, I don't. I don't have anything in my piggy bank right now. I gave it all to Haiti."

So Michael, bless his heart, is a budding philanthropist. He wasn't whiney at all about it either; he wasn't disappointed he couldn't buy the guy because he donated his money. He corrected me about his liquid cash position, then went about happily looking at Lego's. Good man.

Megan can write her name now. And Michael can read just about any word. Except for maybe 'chrysanthemum' or 'anesthesiologist' or 'psychopharmacology'. When I told Michael that eventually he'll be able to read even the biggest, gnarliest words, he said, "If only writers would eschew obfuscation and espouse elucidation." To which I said, "Allow me an interlude while I endeavor to elicit the denotation of your utterance." Ah, that's silly, but, honestly, I think Michael is very bright. And suffice it to say, I can't wear my "I love Megan" T-shirt anymore because he'd take a quick look at it and say, "What am I, chopped liver?"

Meg still doesn't understand that the good guy always wins in the kind of shows she watches. For example, during an episode of 'Super Friends' showcasing Wonder Woman, after our heroine has sprung a trap set by her nemesis, The Cheetah, who is determined to steel Wonder Woman's Magic Lasso, Megan might say, looking very concerned, "Daddy, is Wonder Woman going to get away? Will she get her lasso back?" Yes, Sweetheart, Wonder Woman is on the cover of the DVD. With her lasso. She's going to escape and win and appear in more episodes. Or when Scooby is locked in a barn by the monster, who is actually the farmer, Megan might say, "Can Scooby get out of there, Daddy?" Yes, Meggie, he'll be fine, he's the title character.

A Little Bonding

This image has not been photoshopped.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Do Not Disturb

the Glamorous Reader.

Dad Entry #59

Michael is so comfortable in briefs, only briefs – in nothing but his underwear – he is destined to work for Calvin Klein. Or maybe he's regressing to a previous life (caveman / loincloth).

Meggie was pinching the skin on the back of her leg, kind of above her calf. She said, "Daddy, did you know it's squishy behind your knee?" The revelatory things we learn from our kids. Amazing discoveries! Megan also told me the story of the Titanic. She said, "Somebody poked a hole in it."

This morning Megan said, "I just don't know why boys don't like pink." She sounded really troubled by this huge disconnect. How could anyone not like pink?!?! I understand where she's coming from. I don't know why girls don't like UFC. Or football. Or action movies. It makes no sense. Actually, I know a few girls who like football. I told Megan that for some reason most boys prefer blue, or green. I told her boys can be crazy and unpredictable. And I added, "Almost as much as girls." Just kidding.

Michael and I had a 'light saber battle'. Megan joined in. She said, "I am Cinderella and I have a gun!" (She had a full princess get-up on – dress, shoes, tiara, jewels – and was aiming a nerf-ball shooter.) She shot me. Three times. Then Michael rapped my knuckles with his light saber. They won.

I watched some Larry King interviews of past U.S. Presidents. At one point, he talked with Bush 41 (the dad, George H. W. Bush) about losing his daughter. I didn't know this about the Bush's. Big tears welled up in the former President's eyes. His chin quivered. She was 4 years old when they lost her to leukemia. I fought back tears myself. I also resisted a strong urge to go upstairs and lift my sleeping Megan out of her bed and just hold her for a while.

Dad Entry #58

Meggie helped me build a shelf. I ripped the boards in the garage while the kids 'headed for cover'. The table saw is pretty loud. It scares me too. I wear glasses and am super careful, but it still kicked a piece of board at me once at about 500 mph. It woulda bloodied my face but luckily I took it in the chest. So I told the kids to 'run for cover' (in the house) because they were playing in the garage. They thought it a fun game, shouting the alarm to each other, "Run for cover!!", then running inside and hiding somewhere each time I flipped on the saw. Then Megan screwed all of the boards together with my Dewalt. I started the screws but she finished them, pulling the trigger on the drill and sending them into the wood. She was tentative at first, but then started over-driving them, sinking them too far, so I had to bridle in her effort. She was excited. My little carpenter. Then she played with the tape measure. She said, "Let's see how long my body is with this measuring thing." They are both growing like weeds.

It's no secret that brothers and sisters bark at each other a lot, and accuse, correct, and taddle on each other. Sadly, my children are no different. So it's cute when they actually have a cooperative and happy play session. Together. Like today, they were co-conspirators. They were hiding in the low double cabinet, waiting to scare me. Of course, I had to pretend I didn't see them, then eventually go over to the closed cabinet (inside of which I could hear giddy whispers), open it, and feign terror when they both hollered and 'surprised' me.

I counted Megan's Barbie's. She has 14 if you include the 2 Ariel Mermaid Barbie's by the tub. 14! I think Jenny (my sister) had 4 or 5. I think Sara and Gretchen had 7 or 8 between them. And I bet my mom only had 1.5 (the half being a hand-me-down missing a leg or maybe her hair - sheared off by a demented, or just mean, brother). We have not given Megan any of her Barbie's. They are gifts, and some are, in fact, hand-me-downs too, but still.... 14! Don't get me wrong, Sara and I are grateful for the generosity of family and friends. What interests me, though, is the trend. How many Barbie's will Megan's daughter have? Enough to play Barbie chess (32)? Enough to diagram football plays (22)? The number of Barbie's appears to double, at least, every genereration. Trends discussed at work are typically graphed, as well.



Meg-Pie really likes what she calls 'smelly pictures'. They're the perfume and cologne adds in magazines that have dried samples inside fold-overs.

The kids had a fight the other day. Sara interrupted it and Michael said, "She was being mean." Sara said, "Okay, but were you being mean to her also?" Michael answered, "Well, I guess. Well then... well then I just hate both of us!" This puzzled Meggie. She said, "You hate you?" Michael's self-deprecating or self-implicating comment was uncharacteristic you might say. It surprised us all. They usually play the blame game. It was funny. "You hate you?" We calmed them both down and maybe talked about how we really shouldn't 'hate' anything.

Megan was wearing her leopard print fleece pants the other day. I told her, "Mego, I love those pants, they're my favorite." She frowned and said, "Well you can't have them, they're too small, they're only medium, not 20-size. Daddy, you're like 20-size." I laughed. Not just because she thought the compliment meant I wanted her pants, but at her way of expressing 'big'. Although, maybe that actually makes sense, maybe if I tried on a dress I'd be a size 20.

Dad Entry #57

We went sledding twice last weekend. For the record, we didn’t go small. Picabo Street would’ve wiped out on this hill. It was steep. And fast. The kids found it a bit scary at first and would only go with an adult. Sara and I were eager to be their copilots. For a couple of reasons. First of all, we like sledding too. And second, well, let me explain: on Saturday, a pair of girls showed up and took off down the hill together. They spun out and flipped over badly on their first run. One of the girls cried, said she couldn’t move her arm, and was immediately escorted home – or to the ER – by her mother. On Sunday, we arrived to find the EMT’s there with an ambulance and fire truck. A girl had crashed and then jettisoned her lunch; I heard an EMT comment to his colleagues he suspected concussion or abdominal trauma. Yeah, most of the hill was fast, so we kept adult arms tightly wrapped around Megan or Michael. But, eventually, Michael wanted to go by himself. He survived (we sent him down a gentler slope). That was on Saturday. On Sunday – no doubt after 24 hours of psyching herself up – Megan gave it a shot, too. I know she was thinking about crossing ‘solo sled run’ off of her ‘daring to-do list’ because of what she said right after she finished. I was there to ‘catch her’ at the bottom of the hill. She popped up and said, “This summer I’m gonna jump off the diving board now and Aunt Gretchen will be proud of me.” Yes she will! With 'sledding' checked off – and with a kind of renewed or validated sense of courage – Meg had immediately moved to her next challenge. Good girl. Get after that list! I told Papa Mike all of this, including the injuries, and he commented that when they were kids, they had those old-school sleds with steel runners. Of course, the picture he painted involved bloody lacerations and lost limbs. No doubt, like everything else – except for little things like the pursuit of happiness and fulfillment – sledding was tougher then too.

Megan is suddenly fond of the word ‘expert’. While reading a book with a butterfly in it, she blurted, "I am an expert about butterflies." Then she paused and added, "And Michael is an expert about Star Wars." I thought it funny she said 'an expert about' instead of 'an expert on'. Who knows, maybe she's correct, and the way I say it is wrong. Regardless, I love to hear very young people feeling their way around language. Sometimes they misuse or incorrectly alter a phrase or cliche. And then, my favorite, sometimes they come up with an ingenious new way of describing or conveying something very typical or common. Like when Meggie told me, "Daddy, you have a stinky chin." She was indicting me for bad breath.

Megan has her flaws – she is too cute for example – but one of them is not selfishness (if you ask me). She offers Michael her candy, gum and stickers. She attempts to show Michael things, to share with him, and even do things for him on occasion, like make or get something for him. By the way, I asked Megan what her favorite thing from Santa was. Her answer? Gum. Santa put a pack in her stocking. With that in mind, Santa might not bring her so many toys next year.

We came to my office a couple Sundays ago in hopes of ‘sneaking in’. This is how I billed the excursion to the kids, I wasn't sure about security, if we could go in or not. When I am alone, I can come and go 24-7 for work. Of course, it's different for guests. So Michael, Meggie and I arrived and I ‘badged’ us in. This means I put my badge on a sensor which activates an otherwise locked, electronic door. Then all three of us crammed into a slot in the revolving door and shuffled our way around. I held Megan and Michael stood in front of me. Anyway, once in, I felt relief until I looked up and was greeted by a security guard. I recognized him, and vice versa; I chat with them once in a while. The guard advised us we couldn’t go further, that the kids were too young to come in without an approval form which I didn't have. Megan, rather confidently – and uncharacteristically as she is normally very shy around big strangers – looked right up at our imposing adversary and said, “Well, we were going to sneak past the security guards.” Believe me, in today’s competitive technology environment, the protection of designs and intellectual property is not taken lightly. I assured the guard that Megan had no intention of telling Apple or Google or any of our competitors about the cutting-edge, whiz-bang stuff she would see inside. Regardless, we couldn't go further and the kids were REALLY disappointed.

Just like Gwen Stefani

Well, maybe she needs a little practice.

Christmas Face

One might think that would be Santa. Or Jesus. But to me, Christmas face looks like this. On Christmas Day, my kids can eat what they want, no holds barred (kinda). Which means that Megan sustains herself solely on the chocolate found in her stocking. I quit cleaning her face after about ten o'clock, as it seemed pointless. She ate ALL of her candy in one day. And much of Michaels, since he traded her all of his Tootsie Rolls for a Littlest Pet Shop animal.

It's MY TURN!!!!!!

(I am kidding. She was just being silly. Although her screaming IT'S MY TURN isn't terribly far-fetched.)

And...Meggie's Show

Which was adorable. Megan was a good little singer and kept up with all of the hand gestures. Cute.